


Canine Chiding

by misanthrobot (augmentalize)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen, Immortal Reinhardt Wilhelm, Immortals, M/M, Vampire Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Vampires, Werewolf Jesse McCree, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augmentalize/pseuds/misanthrobot
Summary: Reinhardt has told him that there are several accounts of werewolves returning to human form after a call of their name and a good scolding. That suits Gabriel Reyes just fine. When McCree decides to howl at the moon while everyone is trying to sleep, he decides to give the methods in those old German tales a shot.





	Canine Chiding

**Author's Note:**

> I read a post on Tumblr a while back regarding werewolves, their clothes, their loved ones, and how it might be less romantic than it seems. No idea where the thing is now, but I got curious as to whether or not it was actually an occurrence in English werewolf myth like the poster implied. Long story short, I didn't find anything about it, but I did get distracted and found a [collection of German werewolf legends](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/werewolf.html), some of which involved the saying of someone's given name as a way to get them to turn back into human form. A little while later, and I'd finished this short piece.

Gabriel Reyes cracks an eye open at the sound of a wolf’s howl, then immediately groans and turns over, pressing his cheek to the well-toned muscle of Reinhardt's back. The other man snorts in his sleep, then turns over slowly until Gabe’s face is pressed into the fluffy hair of his chest. Gabe wiggles up so that they’re at level and presses a kiss to the curve of his lover’s shoulder, then clings a little tighter. Reinhardt laughs, deep and tired, and strokes one large hand down the curve of his spine. Then he hears another howl, closer this time, and groans again. Gabriel buries his face against Reinhardt’s neck, swearing mostly to himself.

“I thought you said bringing him to your estate would keep him from going wild,” he mumbles against skin. He’s tempted to bite down, which comes with the territory. Even if all that garlic and crosses lore is ultimately bullshit, that doesn’t make the sun any less aggravating or his current lover any less tempting to sink his teeth into. Gabe refrains. Reinhardt gave him what he needed earlier, and then some. Least he could do is let the man rest. Instead, he laps playfully at Reinhardt’s neck, sating himself with the memory of taste rather than the actual thing.

“If I recall correctly, I said bringing him to my estate would _help_ him control his wilder side. Or at the very least, allow him to run around without attracting unwanted attention,” Reinhardt rumbles, then rolls himself onto his back, folding a pillow over one side of his head to block out the noise. It’s only temporary. Soon, he’s bracing against the mattress and pushing himself up.

“It is fine. I will bring him back inside.”

“No, you don’t,” Gabe says, and stills the larger man with a hand on his bicep. “Just because you like to wrestle with werewolves doesn’t mean I’m about to let you do it at--” A quick look at the clock. “--three in the morning. Jesus Christ…”

That’s all the coaxing it takes to get Reinhardt to lay back in bed, surprisingly. Gabriel knows it wouldn't have been this easy normally, but Reinhardt always feels a little more tired than usual once Reyes has finished feeding off him and fucking him into the mattress. Gabe rakes his fingers fondly through the other man’s hair before pulling himself up from the bed and pulling on a pair of sweatpants. Family or not, it's probably not the best idea to go confronting a werewolf while he’s in the nude.

He pads down the hall and then down the stairs, casting a glance back to make sure that Reinhardt isn't following. It would be _so_ like him to disregard what Reyes has told him to do out of a misguided desire to do the right thing, or to protect those who need protecting. It's why Reyes has never allowed him to work with Blackwatch. Those unshakable morals would be hell on anything that could be considered covert operations. Never mind that a giant man clad in gleaming steel armor is the exact opposite of covert. Here, in the privacy of the run-down Wilhelm family grounds, he can almost forget the cavernous differences in their moral codes. A small, two-story cottage in the middle of thick forest does wonders to block out the outside world.

It’s too bad that isn’t what they’re here for.

Gabe hears another howl as he steps into McCree’s room, easing the door open carefully. He flicks the light on and the sight that greets him is exactly the one he expects. Bed empty, sheets rumpled, clothes on the floor, and the window open.

“God _dammit_. I knew we should’ve made him stay on the top floor.”

Gabe spends a second just breathing, even though he hasn’t needed to for centuries. He hasn’t been keeping track of how long he’s been alive, but he can’t recall having a more aggravating person in his life than one Jesse McCree. Two years after picking him up out of the Deadlock Gang, and he’s barely any more in control of himself than when they started. It’s out of choice on most occasions, Gabe knows. He can’t say he blames the kid too much, but that chip on his shoulder is liable to break bones if this keeps up. He picks up the entire outfit McCree’s seen fit to leave on the floor, plaid shirt and all, and throws it over an arm before closing the window and hitting the light on his way out.

Thankfully, the sun isn’t going to be up for a while, which means he’s not pressed for time. While Gabriel has certain benefits that allow him to operate in the sunlight, it’s not something he particularly enjoys. If it were closer to daybreak, he’d probably just chase McCree down and give him an earful, but as it is, he can afford to wait just outside the front door.

Gabriel snatches a packet of cigars from the pocket of McCree’s jeans, fishing around for a lighter and taking a long drag once he has one lit. When he exhales, it’s in a long plume and he finds himself relaxing a little more. Reinhardt never lets either of them smoke in the house, and wherever McCree manages to find cigars in this day and age, they’re apparently quality.

It doesn’t take long for him to hear a low growl from the side of the porch, then a rustle from the trees as a massive, tawny wolf comes creeping out of the forest. It’s a good five feet tall from the shoulder, just slightly bigger than a grizzly, and Gabe eyes it with the kind of impassivity he usually reserves for lukewarm coffee or any sort of human food he’s supposed to fake enjoyment for.

“Smelled I was smoking one of yours, huh?”

The wolf doesn't say anything, just creeps closer and closer to the porch, obviously itching for a fight. A few decades ago, Gabe might have obliged, but now he likes to think himself better. He’s known McCree since he was a kid, even if they met each other when the other man was already a teenager. Gabe considers it a good thing that he can’t seem to shake the image of the man in the wolf. It reminds him that he’s far better than he used to be. Even if McCree just want to play or wrestle, it isn't hard to imagine the damage they could do to each other if they got carried away.

“Cut the shit, Jesse McCree.” Gabriel stubs the cigar out in an ashtray balanced precariously on the porch railing, mindful that the wolf was moments away from lunging. Not anymore though. The change is almost immediate, playfully predatory eyes going a little more human, a little wide. The wolf shakes and fur goes flying, followed by the rest. Skin and muscle and blood are shaken away and vanish, leaving a sheepish young man with an unruly mop of brown hair and a fluffed up patch of facial hair on his chin.

“Put some clothes on,” says Gabe, and throws him the shirt and pants, maybe a little harder than he needs to. Jesse grunts and shrugs his clothes on as gracefully as a newborn colt, still getting used to having hands with thumbs. Gabe considers keeping up with the lecture, but the truth of it is that he’s tired. In spite of night being the time he’s usually most active, he's not keen on staying awake any longer than he has to, not when he has better places to be. He wants to go back inside and crawl back into bed with Reinhardt, leech more of the other man’s considerable body heat. He wants to tuck his cold feet up against the back of Reinhardt's knees just to feel the other man jump.

“Boss?”

“Hm?”

“Are you gonna...”

“McCree, there’s not a goddamn thing I could tell you now that I haven’t already told you about a thousand fucking times.” McCree flinches at that, just a bit. Then he catches himself flinching and straightens up, pushing his shoulders back and swallowing. Gabe sighs and turns back toward the door.

“We’ll talk about it more in the morning. Right now, just get back inside and get some sleep.”

They move into the house and Gabe has to stop once he doesn’t hear the padding of McCree’s feet behind him. He turns and sees the younger man standing near the door, looking a little at a loss.

“Jesse, you _better_ not be thinking of going back out there.”

“What? Naw. I just… Is that it?”

“Is what it?” McCree kicks at the floorboard and shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Dunno. Thought you’d be more ornery is all.”

“McCree, your bullshit yanked me outta bed at three in the goddamn morning. So don’t get it wrong, I _am_ pissed, but I’m not about to go postal on you this early in the morning just for running around on an estate that’s about eighty kilometers away from anything that matters.”

McCree stares at him like he always does, like after so long of being beaten and cowed, he’s surprised that someone would cut him even the slightest amount of slack.

“However, you _will_ be making breakfast later on today to make up for it.”

Just like that, the surprise is gone and McCree lets out an exasperated groan as he stomps past Reyes and toward his room.

“You don’t even _eat_ human food,” he complains. Then, after a moment, he looks back at Gabe and grins. “Guess you made a withdrawal at the First National Blood Bank of Wilhelm tonight, huh?”

Gabe rolls his eyes and turns, starting his climb up the stairs.

“Mind your own business, McCree.”


End file.
